Maybe it's worth a try
by Effin4
Summary: This is Welcome to a ride on the Emotional Roller Coaster 2. Don't have to read that one to read this, because this story is independent. John comes back, but will it last? Cause with a new case follows new people, and maybe Moriarty wasn't dead after all
1. Family

_Okay, I decided I __wanted to make a continue on my other story, Welcome to a ride on the Emotional Roller Coaster. Mostly because of flattering reviews and wishes, honestly. (Thank you very, very much, it really keeps me going!)_

_The reason why I make a new story, instead of just a sequel or some more chapters is that I'm pretty happy with the ending, even though I want them together. That's why, in justice to myself, I write this as another story._

_If you pretend it's a book, this is book number 2!_

* * *

><p>This was the worst Sherlock Holmes had ever experienced. He was having trouble doing normal things, or, that is, normal things for him. He still deduced well, but his experiments went all wrong, and he didn't want to work. Mrs. Hudson told Lestrade in confidence that she'd caught him drinking whiskey a couple of times, and Sherlock never drank. Smoke yes. Cocaine, he'd tried twice. But he never drank. It didn't help him think at all, actually, the opposite. Which was just what he wanted at the moment.<p>

On the other side of London, John was not doing any better. Every day he regretted going away, but couldn't bring himself to go back. He was also a little hurt that Sherlock hadn't come after him, but as he kept telling himself: He had said he didn't want him too. Never the less, he felt that Sherlock wouldn't even come to fight for him.

When Harry had given him her phone, she'd wanted him to stay in touch, but she was more than surprised when he stood outside his door with everything he owned. She surely hadn't expected that, but John didn't care. Though, now four weeks had gone by, and John was sick and tired of seeing Harry come home drunk every night. He wanted a place of his own. No, that wasn't right. He wanted to go back and live in 221 B Baker Street.

"Why hasn't he come back? Why? WHY?" Sherlock yelled, out to no one. As it was, Lestrade was coming up the stairs, hoping to get Sherlock to come out and help him with a case, and came in the door just as Sherlock shot five bullets in a row into the poor wall.

"CALM DOWN! Put that gun down now, Sherlock." Lestrade said, stern and a bit scared. Sherlock turned around, pointing the gun at Lestrade.

"Oh, for God´s sake!"

"Where is John? Why hasn't he come back? Why haven't I heard anything? For all I know, he can be dead!"

"Sherlock Holmes, put the gun down! I don't know, he didn't tell me he was leaving! And I'm pretty sure you, or I, would've heard it if he were dead." Lestrade said this quickly, eager to get Sherlock to point the gun elsewhere, or better yet, put it down.

Sherlock put the gun down, and threw himself in nearest chair. He curled up, facing the wall, sulking like he used to when he was born.  
>"Why are you here. I'm not interested in any case. All I want is John back."<p>

Lestrade threw his hands up in the air, wondering why he was even trying. After John disappeared, Sherlock had been unreliable, unwilling to work, even more rude and inappropriate than usually and sulky beyond compare. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and spent his all his day in the flat, shooting at the wall or looking at his website.

"If you want him back so much, why don't you go look for him? You, of all people, would find him with once, I'm sure." Lestrade was so in despair over Sherlock, he just wanted him to find John, and shut up for a while. Still, he needed his help.

"If you help me on this case, I'll help you find John."

Sherlock almost looked insulted.

"What kind of help would you be? If I wanted to find John, I would've found him. But he wrote that he didn't want me to look for him." Sherlock looked away, and said something so quiet, Lestrade wasn't sure he'd actually said it.

"If I look for him, he won't ever come back."

Lestrade felt weird. He wanted to pat the poor wreck of a man on the back, and tell him it was all going to be okay, same time as he wanted to punch him really hard. He had the feeling that Sherlock often gave him, the feeling of being with a child, mature on some points and clueless on others. He stood there, awkwardly.

"When have you ever listened to something someone told you? If you want to get John back, go find him. Convince him to come back. I'm one hundred percent sure John is as miserable as you."

Sherlock snorted.

"Obviously not. Then he wouldn't have left. If you are done now, please leave."

Lestrade turned on his heel and went out of the room. There was only so much he had patient to take on one day.

John looked at his phone. He quickly touched the screen, and a note came up that said: **Anonymous caller ID has been activated**. He dialed the number, without finally touching the call-button. He really wanted to. He'd sat like this so many times, but this time, he couldn't help himself. He wanted to hear Sherlock´s voice.

"Yes. Who is this?" Sherlock answered after one ring. John thought he'd prepared himself to hear his baritone voice, but realized he'd been very wrong. He wanted to say something, but couldn't.

"Who is this? John? John is that you? It's you."

Silence. Sherlock obviously waited, and John wanted to hang up, but couldn't to that either. He was spellbound to that beautiful voice, which had a slight tone of despair and need in it.

"Why do you call me? What do you want? OH!" Sherlock made the noise he always did when he found something obvious out. John could see in his head just the way Sherlock looked right now, like he'd just had THE revelation.

"You want me to find you. You want me to find you!"

Happiness slowly filled the voice, and John smiled because he was the one making Sherlock this way, and he imagined just the familiar way Sherlock was when he got eager. In one way, he wanted to say no, that Sherlock shouldn't come and find him, but he couldn't. So he stayed quiet.

"I'm hanging up now, John. And then I will come and find you. Okay? I have to get to work this instant." Sherlock hung up. John felt happiness float through his body; he'd have to take the worrying later. Right now he just wanted to see Sherlock again, and was still high on his voice.

Sherlock jumped up, and half-danced around in the room. He didn't to it for long, though; he soon sat down and started thinking. Where could John have gone?

If he wanted to avoid Sherlock, - Sherlock flinched of pain by that thought, he wouldn't be somewhere near. John didn't want to leave totally either, and he imagined John would stay in London, especially since he'd at least planned on coming back.

John didn't have any friends, though, not that he knew. He probably wasn't with Sarah, she'd been avoiding him ever since she got engaged, Molly didn't have room and Lestrade, well, he'd just been here, hadn't he.

Who could John have gone to, then? He didn't have any money, that's why they'd become flat mates in the first place.

Sherlock´s many thoughts got interrupted my Mrs. Hudson, who'd thought Sherlock´s flat was very silent compared to what it usually was, and came to check on him. She brought tea, hoping to cheer him up a bit.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Mrs. Hudson asked, gently, because she didn't know what kind of mood he was in. He was just sitting in the sofa, with his hand forming a pyramid under his nose, and his elbows resting on his knees. Sherlock was clearly thinking hard on something, which was a nice change from sulking, drinking or shooting the wall.

"Thinking." Sherlock´s answer was short, but not very rude.

"Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Hudson, you can put it on the table."

This certainly surprised Mrs. Hudson, this sudden thankfulness and warm voice. He sounded happy, he really sounded happy.

"Did something good happen?" Mrs. Hudson asked, curious. She bit her lip instantly, Sherlock never liked it when people put their nose in his cases, but Sherlock just sent her a little smile, the first one since John left. Mrs. Hudson felt like a hundred punds just had been eased off her shoulders. Sherlock was starting to do better. He didn't answer though, so Mrs. Hudson put the tray down, and started to walk down the stairs.

"Oh, Sherlock? I'll be gone for a week; my sister and I are going for a cruise. Be a good boy and don't burn down my house, or shoot my wall in pieces."

Sherlock jumped up and almost ran down Mrs. Hudson.  
>"Say that again! Say that again!" He shook her, a bit rougher than he probably should.<p>

"Ehm," Mrs. Hudson seemed really taken back.

"Be a good boy and,-"

"No, not that part!"

"I'm going to a cruise with my sister?"

"SISTER! Of course! Sister! He's with his sister! Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, thank you!" He kissed her cheek, twice, and then he was out the door without further explanation.

Mrs. Hudson stood back, looking after him, a bit worried. When Sherlock was in that mood, you could never know if he would go and do something stupid.

* * *

><p><em>So that's the first! Hope I'm not disappointing someone who read my first fic. If that's so, be a sweetie and tell me. As you can see, you don't have to have read Welcome to a ride on the Emotional Roller Coaster, to understand the story. Reviews are always very welcome, and I try to answer everyone :) <em>


	2. Three red roses

_To all who reads: __I LOVE YOU_

* * *

><p>John sat on his bed, waiting. He didn't think Sherlock would take long to figure it out, but on the other hand had he no idea whether Sherlock would remember he had a sister. Sherlock had never been much about family, that's for sure. But what was he supposed to do when he got here? Did they just become friends again? Lovers? What did he want? They needed to talk, that's for sure. Anyways, he really couldn't stand another time spent without Sherlock.<p>

His sister had been no help at all. When she wasn't drunk, she was out getting drunk, and that one time he'd talked to her, she'd just said he was stupid for leaving. But even though John regretted leaving, he couldn't help but feel that he'd done the right thing. Not that it'd gone so much time that he was over him, but he couldn't bear another minute. Friendship, lovers, it didn't matter to John. He wanted to be with Sherlock; no matter what way, and that was acknowledge he needed to have to get his relationship with the detective in order. So he'd gotten something out of leaving, and now he felt sure that he could take Sherlock coming. Or not.

The doorbell rang, and John tried not to jump up and sprint down like a child waiting for cake, but couldn't help himself. Outside the door stood an even thinner Sherlock in his usual clothing and three roses. John just stood and stared.

"You brought roses."

A slight shade of pink crept up on Sherlock´s cheekbones, as he said with his usual voice:

"Yes, obviously. Never understood why people do it, but I believe that's something you do when you go to visit someone you haven't seen in a long time." Sherlock didn't quite meet John´s eyes; clearly there was something he didn't want John to ask about.

"But why three red roses? John asked, when it dawned on him. He tried not to smile, but it was difficult.

"Well, that's what you give when want to tell someone you love them." Sherlock said this with no feelings, just like a statement, but the speed the words were said in betrayed him.

"Okay then. Does that mean you love me?" John said, plainly. Sherlock looked a bit surprised for a moment, but then he smiled.

"Yes."

"How does that work?"

"No idea."

They shared a smile that they'd both longed for in ages. John waved his hand in direction of the living room and asked Sherlock to come in. Sherlock went bluntly in, looked around, and turned back to John.

"What shall I help you carry?"

"Eh, hem?" John was caught off guard, and stared at Sherlock, not understanding what he meant.

"Your stuff! You have packed, haven't you?"

"Where am I going?" John stared at Sherlock with total confusion.

"Back to Baker Street!"

"We haven't talked together for months, and now I'm just moving back?"

Sherlock, who'd started moving towards the stairs and up to John´s bedroom, turned around.

"Problem?"

John lifted his eyebrow, thinking that this reminded him very much of the first day he'd met Sherlock.

"We haven't figure out where we stand yet. I don't know if we are friends, I don't know if we are lovers, I don't even know what I want."

"I know I love you," was Sherlock´s simple answer, and John couldn't help but smile. This was just as the first time he met Sherlock, things moved so fast, without questioning what happened. So he went along on it, because he had to and he wanted to. He couldn't help himself, this was Sherlock bloody Holmes.

It didn't take them much time packing. They basically just threw clothes into different bags and suitcases without saying something. John just wanted to enjoy the feeling of being near Sherlock again, smell him and see him. The talking could very much wait, until they got home and Mrs. Hudson made them a cup of tea.

Sherlock took the time to really suck in everything John did, the movements, his facial expressions, his smell, everything. He also put everything of John´s stuff in his Mind Palace, in the huge closet marked John Hamish Watson. He didn't want to miss a single thing. He felt happy, the same feeling he had when he'd solved a case, or, that is, in the three seconds before he got bored. Sherlock felt the need to say something, he wanted to say how happy he was, how John made him feel, but couldn't open his mouth. This wasn't something he was used to, so he got a little puzzled.

A thought just hit John, and he started to pack as fast as he could. He'd just remembered where he was, and he didn't want Sherlock to meet his sister. She could come home anytime, drunk or in a bad mood. Both as bad as the other one, and John wouldn't want Sherlock to deal with that. There was also a tiny little voice very far back in John´s mind who told John he didn't want Sherlock to say something too bad to Harry, either. He might be very rude, and then she would be furious. He almost ran down to put the suitcases and bags in the cab, followed by a somewhat surprised Sherlock over this sudden change.

"Why the hurry, John?" he asked, and John almost jumped.

"Erhm, nothing, I just can't wait to get back and say hi to Mrs. Hudson." John saw that Sherlock didn't buy that lie for a second, and tried another approach to get Sherlock away from seeing the obvious.

"I can't wait to we get home, so I can talk to you… And do other things."

Sherlock stared at John for just a moment, with an unfathomable look on his face.

"You don't want me to meet your sister. Why? Oh, don't say. You're afraid I might say something mean."

The time it took John to answer was verification enough for Sherlock. He got back his emotionless look, a bit colder than it usually was, and started throwing the bags inside.

"Sherlock, no. I didn't mean that. I just don't want you to be here if she, -"

"If she what?" A tired, hurt female voice came from behind John. He turned around quickly, facing his brown-haired sister. She was (thank God!) not drunk. She actually wasn't angry either, but she was hurt.

"This is the guy you moved here for? He came back for you. How nice. I'm Harriet. Just saying, and now I'll leave. Don't want to embarrass you, John." She turned to leave, but Sherlock stopped her. John bit his lips unconsciously, waiting for Sherlock to say something mean.

"Hi, I'm Sherlock Holmes. Nice to meet you. You have John´s eyes."

John stood there, his mouth almost touching the ground. He'd heard Sherlock act nice form occasion to occasion, but he'd never imagined in his wildest dreams Sherlock would say that. He did, however, know the fake smile Sherlock always used when he tried to act human.

"Nice to meet you too. I'll kill you if you hurt John again."

Sherlock was surprised. That was something people usually didn't manage to make him, except for John, and now John´s sister. He wanted for a second to tell her how John'd left _him_, but swallowed the camel and said he would never hurt John, and if he did, he'd gladly let her kill him.

This was so out of character for Sherlock, that John couldn't help but just stand and look unbelievingly on the scene that played out in front of him. He didn't get back to himself before Harry gave him a hug, shook Sherlock´s hand and said goodbye.

"Goodbye, Harry. Thanks for letting me stay!"

"Don't think about it," was Harry´s answer, and Sherlock got in the cab with John in his heels.

"Okay, what was that about?"

"Hm?" Sherlock looked surprised.

"You being all nice?"

Sherlock stopped looking surprised, and a kind of offended look wiped over his face.

"I can be nice if I want to, you know. She's your family. I should be nice."

"Yeah, but still. You didn't even comment on the part where she said that you hurt me. I left. You could've said so." Dammit. John wished he could take back words. He didn't want to talk about this. Not now, not ever. He felt Sherlock stiffen beside him.

"Didn't think it was necessary." Sherlock´s answer was short, and he looked out of the window. John didn't know what to say. He'd just realized that none of them had apologized and he didn't know which of them who should be the first.

* * *

><p><em>I'm SO sorry this took so long time. My only apology is that I've had exam-like tests all week, and a real downtrip on Tuesday. Tried to keep some sense and a red line through the whole story, but not sure I made it, especially at the end. Please tell me what you guys think! It's so important to me, you know!<em>

_And thank you so much to everyone who read, alert and add this story as favorite. I know I've said it before, but a good thing can't be said to often, right? You guys literally light up my day :) _


	3. Home

_Okay, my tests are done! __Oh joy, now I can use all my spare time to write! Don't take that too seriously though. I won't use __all__ my spare time to write. Lots of thanks to those who wished me good luck on my tests! Turned out I needed it, haha. I think the English one I had today went badly. Ye, ye, shit happen, life goes on, right? Well, at least my story happens to do so! Here's chapter three :)_

* * *

><p>After awkward silence in the cab for what seemed like forever, John said trying:<p>

"How's Mrs. Hudson? I look forward to see her again."

"She's fine. You won't see her for a week, though, because she's on a cruise with her sister." Sherlock´s face showed no emotions, and his voice was empty. John didn't know what to make of it. Was he angry? But he didn't seem so a little while ago. Everything had been fine up till the point with Harry and – Oh. It dawned on John. Sherlock was hurt. Dammit.

"Sherlock, listen, I'm –" John started, but Sherlock cut him off.

"We'll take this when we get home." It wasn't said in an angry voice, more like an order, and John wasn't one to not obey orders, and kept his mouth shut.

When they arrived in front of 221 B Baker Street, John got a warm feeling, which told him that he was home. This was where he was meant to be. This was the place in his heart. He looked at Sherlock, balancing his entire luggage in the door. That was his heart. When they'd gotten all the suitcases inside and got down to get the last bag, Sherlock stopped. He looked at Mrs. Hudson´s flat.

"She didn't leave."

Mrs. Hudson hadn't left. Sherlock was first gripped with a cold hand, but got hold of himself before he strode in the door. All he needed was seconds. Mrs. Hudson´s luggage on the floor, her sitting in the sofa with red nose, puffy eyes.

John noticed a little bit after Sherlock, and tried to get to her before him. This was just a habit; usually Sherlock wasn't the greatest when it came to dealing with people with grief. He did, however, not get there before Sherlock, and had to stand by in scare for Sherlock to say something stupid. So, when Sherlock hugged the older lady, and let her cry down his black coat while he said sorry and patted her back, John had his third shock of the day. This was getting exhausting. And when and how did Sherlock get so good with _humans_?

The answer hit him without any further thinking. Sherlock had had to deal with grief himself. And that was his, John Watson´s, fault. He felt bad. He regretted leaving Sherlock. But he had yet to see the biggest and most heartbreaking changes in Sherlock.

"She had a… a… heart attack," Mrs. Hudson stuttered, trying not to sob to much. She tried to utter the words, but it was hard for her, and John felt so bad when he saw how awfully she struggled.

"She didn't… sob… make it." Mrs. Hudson started crying again, and Sherlock just kept on holding her close. He repeated that he was sorry, that it was going to be okay and kept patting her back. John stood spellbound and watched the whole scene. He didn't know what to do and he couldn't say something. Neither did he want to break in on the whole, kind of beautiful scene. John'd never understood why Sherlock cared so much for Mrs. Hudson, not that he didn't like her or anything, just the opposite, he loved her, but why Sherlock did… But now he had the feeling that he'd finally solved the mystery. Sherlock looked at Mrs. Hudson as his mother. Not like the mother he had, but as family. Like families should be.

Mrs. Hudson nicely pulled away after some time.

"Oh, look at me, sobbing all over your coat," she managed to say with the tiniest of smile, and then she looked over and saw John.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm so sorry," John said, and gave her a hug.

"John! You're back! God how glad I am to see you. Sherlock has been a pain and a mess since you left! He's just been sitting in his apartment, refusing to work, not doing any experiments or going out. The only thing he's done is being rude to Lestrade and Molly and give my wall a hard time surviving." For a moment Mrs. Hudson looked like she'd forgotten about her sister, but it didn't last long. As Sherlock told her to sit down while he made her a cup of tea, John thought of what Mrs. Hudson had said. He hadn't even worked? He'd done bigger damage then he ever imagined he could do.

Very much later, after some cups of tea and promises to come to the funeral, John and Sherlock sat finally in their usual places. John had, as expected, observed multiple, new bullet holes in the wall, and if he'd counted correctly, it was 57 of them. It didn't matter now. He stared at the wall, Sherlock stared at the floor. Both of them had their thoughts on the other, but firstly on what they were going to say. It seemed they'd decided at the same time, because when John finally opened his mouth, Sherlock did too.

"John…"

"Sherlock…" They looked up on each other and laughed. Just a little, but it turned into a bigger laugh. The laughter ended up reminding John about the time they'd sit in Buckingham Palace, and Sherlock wasn't wearing any pants. He laughed a little more by that thought.

"But seriously, Sherlock. I'm sorry. I'm so indescribable sorry. It was the stupidest thing I've ever done, and it was utterly egocentric. The only thing I learned, was, well, that I can't live without you, because I need you. No matter if we are friends, lovers, flat mates or colleagues, I want to be with you." Sherlock could formerly see how John struggled to say the words. His hand had gotten back that tremor it'd had the first time they met, and he moved his hands nervously. John tried for his life to meet Sherlock´s eyes at all time, but had to look down sometimes. Then he looked straight up again, and finished what he'd said, with his eyes locked in Sherlock´s grey.

"I love you."

Sherlock didn't say anything. If it was one thing he'd learned after John left, it was that he shouldn't say things he hadn't thought through hundred times when it came to feelings. He couldn't use John as if he was a towel; use it when he needed it, to throw it away again.

"John. I want to try this. I do. But I…" Sherlock swallowed because this was very hard for him to say, "I might… _fail_." He breathed out. "And I don't want you to be gone if I do so. I don't do this, you know. I need to learn how this works. Look at me, John, I'm in love."

Sherlock looked down on his hands, not sure where to go from here. Lucky for both of them, this was where John´s seducing skills with women was useful. He came over to the sofa, and sat down next to Sherlock. He took his hand. Sherlock looked down on his hand, which now was covered by the other man´s, and looked back at John.

"Now, why on earth would we hold hands?"

John smiled and shook his head. This was going to be, mildly said, a bit challenging. _But it's worth every second_, John thought to himself as he stretched his neck up to reach Sherlock´s lips with his own. _Worth every second_.

* * *

><p><em>Yeah, that's that dear readers! And, I hope you know, I almost never do this, and by this I mean advertising for something, but if you haven't heard <em>_Cabin Pressure__, go and do it right away. It's just hilarious, and for those of you who are big fans of Benedict Cumberbacth, he is one of the four main voices. Really, if you want a laugh, go listen to it. It's really made my week. That, and of course your lovely reviews! :)_


	4. Awkward situation and a case

_Okay, guys__, I decided I wanted to throw in a little case, here, because that would be interesting for me to write, and hopefully for you to read, too! :)_

* * *

><p>Sherlock woke up the next day, lying next to John. He almost fell out of the bed of pure surprise. He was, weirdly enough, more shocked about the fact that he was lying in a bed, rather than he was lying next to John.<p>

"I never sleep in a bed," he mumbled to himself, getting up. John slept, and turned over. He wondered if he was going to make John breakfast, but decided against it. He'd rather sit on John´s computer looking up stuff, and nag Lestrade for cases.

Some hours later, John came down the stairs wearing only sweatpants. Sherlock didn't even look up, he was obviously very busy looking at something on, - ah, he thought so – John´s computer.

"Isn't that my computer, Sherlock?"

"Obvious."

"Why didn't you lay for a while? It'd been nice to wake up with you," John tried.

"Why would I do that? Oh, sentiment. Doesn't sound like me, does it? Laying in bed watching the love of my life sleep in my arms." If Sherlock hadn't said the love of my life, John would've been extremely hurt, and probably rushing out of the apartment the minute the sentence was said. Instead, he asked with a spark:

"Ah, I'm the love of your life?" Sherlock snorted, trying to hide away a little grin. That was all John needed, and he bent down over the sofa where Sherlock sat and kissed him lightly on the lips. It was only intended to be a little good-morning kiss, but it grew deeper and deeper, and suddenly John was dragged over the couch and laid on top of Sherlock. He moaned as Sherlock moved his hand between them and easily touched John´s erection through the sweatpants. He used his own hands to pull in Sherlock´s hair, trying to pull him closer, desperate for his lips.

Off came John´s pants, and Sherlock´s sheet had fallen off a long time ago. John licked down Sherlock´s collarbone, and he moaned deeply. He tore himself away from Sherlock´s smooth, silky skin and looked at his face. John used his fingertips to slightly touch Sherlock´s cheekbones. He let a finger slide down them, which caused Sherlock to shiver and a deep, hungry moan escaped his lips.

"John… Please."

John raised an eyebrow. He was surprised. He'd never though he'd hear Sherlock beg.

"Hm, what do you want me to do, then?" He decided he wanted to play this for a while. It was nice being the dominant for once. Sherlock didn't like being the submissive, though, so he nibbled on John´s earlobe, starting to rub John's erection, carefully and eager at the same time. He actually managed to flip over without falling off the sofa, so now John was on the bottom. Sherlock eased himself down, licking and nibbling down, exploring every little part of the doctor below him. The roles were changed. John gasped for air when Sherlock licked his extremely erected cock. Sherlock started with giving it a little suck, and John pulled hard in Sherlock´s silky, curly hair. Sherlock just kept teasing him with his tongue, until John finally said desperate:

"Sherlock, please. Suck me. I beg you." The raw, grumbly voice of John made Sherlock blinded with arouse, and he took John´s cock slowly in his mouth.

Just then, the door flew up, and in came Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan. They stopped, too shocked to move by the sight of Sherlock sucking John on the couch. John blushed, and with every strength he had, he made Sherlock stop. Sherlock didn't seem embarrassed at all; he simply looked up at the astonished faces and said:

"Would you leave now? I am busy."

"I need you on a case, Sherlock," Lestrade said. He'd finally gotten back his ability to speak.

"Can't you see I'm in the middle of someth- someone?" Sherlock looked down on John who was lying still, red as a tomato.

"I'm going to be sick," Anderson mumbled and strode off. Donovan gave them a last, freaked look, and followed Anderson.

"I'll be down when I'm ready," Sherlock snapped, and Lestrade left. When the door was closed, Sherlock turned his attention to John´s erected dick once again.

"No, no. I'm not doing this when the police is downstairs waiting. We'll have to do this later." John fought with himself as he rose from the couch, and went to his bedroom to get dressed. The erection was bothering him, but he couldn't keep on going with _Anderson_ downstairs.

When John came down, Sherlock had actually put on clothes. John had had a sneaky feeling that he would go around in the sheet all day, and he couldn't decide whether he was disappointed or relieved.

"I would kiss you, but I don't think that's such a good idea right now," John said to Sherlock, as they went downstairs to talk to Lestrade. Sherlock didn't answer, but as he opened the door, he let his hand accidentally slide over John´s crotch. John flinched in pleasure, and the bulk in his pants got even bigger. _Damn Sherlock_. He looked at Sherlock just in time to see a very confident grin on his detective´s face.

The mood was a bit awkward when they got outside and Sherlock was waiting to get the case. John felt incredible embarrassed, but Sherlock didn't look like minded at all.

"Well, we don't know if this is a case yet, but we've been, ehm, paid to do this, the guy is a policeman you see, to prove that this wasn't suicide." Lestrade blushed when he said that. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"A man, 47 years old, was found hanging from a rope in his house earlier today. His wife found him. She said he wasn't the type to take his own life." Sherlock shook his head, but didn't want to be bored, so he joined in a cab with John.

"Bit unfair, don't you think? Starting this," John waved direction of his crotch, "and then just decide you're going on a case?"

Sherlock grinned, clearly extremely satisfied with himself.

"I will finish it later."

The house they arrived by was big and red. The garden was huge, and John felt a sting for not living there himself. The garden was in good condition, clearly taken care of regularly. Lestrade led them into the house and down to the basement. The stairs where newly painted white, surely not to look so old as they were. Actually, when they came down, Sherlock saw that the whole basement had newly been renovated. In a very little, narrow room, with nothing but a wash and a washing machine, hang a guy from a rope.

The man was slightly over-weight, had thin hair and big bold parts, and was wearing Puma. This was clearly a man who cared about how he looked, and wanted to show off as a guy with money. It was obvious to Sherlock that although he liked to pretend, he didn't have so much money he briefed with, but he probably did have a debt to be proud of. Beside him was a stool that most likely had been pushed away and –

"Okay, I'll take it. This isn't suicide."

* * *

><p><em>Not the biggest cliffhanger, I admit. But I still hope I got some readers, I mean, my e-mail was sadly empty of reviews from the last chapter. Please tell me what you think of the case and stuff. I promise the case will be exciting, but in this chapter I just wanted to introduce it.<em>

_TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK :) _


	5. Irene Adler all over again

_Okay, I decided I kinda have to __write this chapter now, before I leave for London (YEY) on Wednesday, and I won't be able to update from there. So I will be away from fanfics for a whole week. Going to miss fanfics, but I'll be going to the Sherlock Holmes museum and I'm so excited! Haha :)_

_Anyway, here it goes! Don't behead me if I'm no good at writing cases._

* * *

><p>"How on earth can you know that by just looking?" Lestrade asked, looking shocked. Sherlock shook his head.<p>

"Obvious! Even an imbecile like you should've seen it." Lestrade still looked confused, and Sherlock mumbled:

"I'm surrounded by idiots. See!" He went up to the hanging body. "Look, he could've put his leg on the chair without problems. Even you probably know that you don't die immediately when hanging yourself, so he'd had time to put his feet back and save himself. But he didn't. Why? Somebody stood here and made sure he didn't."  
>"But how do you know he just didn't want to survive. Maybe he actually just wanted to die?" John asked, not understanding why that would be so shocking.<p>

"Oh, John, look around you. Did you see the alarm system? It's worth hundreds of pounds. He was scared someone would come to get him. If you check the safe he most surely has by his bed, I can assure you it will lie a gun there. Probably a baseball bat by the bed, too. People that are so afraid of being killed usually don't make the job easier for the guys that are going to kill them by doing it themselves."

"That's amazing!" John blurted out, and stared in surprise when Sherlock gloomed.

"Well, his name is Peter von Woller, he has four kids with his ex-wife. The oldest one is a girl, 17 years old, then there're two boys, twins, age 13 and the youngest is a girl on 9. He told me once they're here every other weekend." Lestrade shipped in, not totally following Sherlock.

"It's one of his four children that have done this. None of them want anything to do with him, but he want admit that. You can see it from the pictures and the movies in the shelf. Not new pictures, at least four years old and the movies are for kids age 7-10. Also, he's kept the rooms as they probably were when the kids lived here, but they haven't been here for two years, I imagine. Interrogate the kids. I want to be there. Still, boring case. Hang on, just one more thing." Sherlock had just seen the man´s wedding ring. It wasn't as dirty as the mediawoman with the cabby-case, but still long time since it had been cleaned. He took it off and checked behind it. "Forever yours truly," read the inscription. Clean on the inside.

"Yes, ah. Find his lover, she might be able to tell something." He hurried off.

"John!" He shouted from above, and John ran after him, happy he hadn't left him there like he usually did.

"You waited on me," he said, slightly astonished.

"Yes, why wouldn't I. Aren't you supposed to wait for your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, but, you don't wait," John said, letting the end just hang there.

"Guess I don't," Sherlock smirked. "But I have something I started earlier today, and want to finish. I'm not one for starting something and forgetting about it."

"Aha," John smiled.

"Yes. I most certainly have to check out the saliva experiment with the head in the fridge. It's been standing there for ages, now."

John felt like someone had stung him in the heart. He tried not to look hurt when he caught a glimpse of Sherlock's grin.

"Idiot," John said, punching Sherlock a bit harder than friendly in the arm, but couldn't help but smile. It wasn't usually Sherlock joked. He got a cab, and they jumped in, both eager to come home and finally finish what they started this morning.

Later that day, when John was watching telly and Sherlock sat in is chair raping the keyboard of John´s PC, Lestrade called and said they were starting with the interrogations.

"If you want to be there, you better come now. And, if I hear a word of you saying something ugly to those kids, I'll be keeping you off cases for a long time, you hear me?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and hung up. Then he jumped up and down, and kissed John eager on the lips.

"This is actually my first case since you, ehm, left. That's why this is more fun than it ought to be, considering it's an extremely boring and predictable case." Sherlock said, without putting any feelings in, as they sat in the cab on their way to the police department. John felt the sting he figured he'd always feel when he got reminded on how much damage he'd done to Sherlock by leaving.

"Don't feel guilty, John. You did what you had to do." The voice was just a low whisper, and when John turned to look at Sherlock he sat looking out of the window, turned away from John. If Sherlock hadn't taken his hand and squeezed lightly for a second, he would've thought he'd imagined it.

The first one Lestrade put in front of Sherlock and John was a little, blond haired girl. She had bright, blue eyes and freckles.

"Hi. What's your name, then?" Sherlock smiled his human smile, and sat down opposite the girl.

"Samantha Crieff," the girl said, meeting Sherlock´s eyes without sign of fear or resignation.

"Tell me about your father, Samantha?" This was said in an asking voice, rarely heard coming out of Sherlock´s mouth.

"He was bad. He threatened us, with all the weapons hanging around the house. I'm glad he's dead." She looked up, without shame or sadness in her face. John stood shocked behind the glass. Clearly Peter von Woller had done something terrible, since his daughter disliked him so badly. Lestrade was also clearly speechless, but Sherlock just nodded.

"He came to visit my school, after we'd stopped being there. He came to talk to my teacher about me, to get her to convince me to go to him no matter what my mum and sister said. He was a bad man. Now that he's dead, I don't have to fear for my life anymore." John shook his head, partly still in shock. Poor girl.

"When were you last with your father?" Sherlock asked the two twin brothers. They were like clones; both had short, clearly coloured hair, grey eyes and a little spark, clear through the relieve.

"One and a half year ago," Sherlock turned his head and sent John a what-did-I-say-look, before turning his attention to the boys again, called James and Jacob.

"We stopped coming there little by little. Vay was first."

"Hang on," Lestrade stopped what John though was James. "Vay?"

"Yes, our sister. Her name is Valencia, but we've always called her Vay. Everyone does, actually. She stopped coming for around two years ago. They'd had a fight over something; he'd been sneaking in her papers and following her. I can't believe she gathered enough courage to do that, cut him off. She was so scared of him. We all were, actually, until, well, now. We never knew if he should snap, and kill us. He made it clear that it wouldn't be a hard thing to do. I guess Vay suffered the worst. He kept following her, and it didn't help when she stopped coming. He just got even worse, and kept texting her about where she was and that he could see her, threatening her to come back. He was desperate to keep us there, didn't want it to look like he was a bad parent. He wanted everything to be perfect. But then again, so did his whole family."

"Do you still have any contact with the rest of the family on your fathers side?" Sherlock asked. This time Jacob answered.

"No. Apparently they chose his side. I don't know so much about that; you'll have to ask Vay. I still get a text every now and then, but they don't say anything. They're mostly from my grandparents. They sent one for Christmas; same message to all of us, except Vay´s was shorter. Nor James or me answered, don't think Sam or Vay did, either, but then again, you'll have to ask them about that. I remember Vay got really angry and answered when Peter sent her a text for her birthday last year."

"You don't call him dad?" Lestrade asked, surprised.

"No," Jacob smiled a little, "we all stopped doing that the second we stopped going there. He was such a bad man; I don't want to be connected to him. He locked me in a car when I was sick, once, and had me sitting there for five hours when the others was in a restaurant celebrating, the birthday of a friend of the family. Didn't even come to check on me, sent his maid instead."

"You have a maid?" Sherlock asked, interested.

"No, I'm referring to Karen. But she's always acted more like a maid and a babysitter then a wife, so we sometimes call her maid. He never did anything at home, Karen did everything."

"Aha. Okay, well, I think that was all," Sherlock said, as Lestrade was about to ask a question. He sent Sherlock a stern look and said:

"Just one more thing, did your father have any enemies?"

This lead to a rather huge outburst of laughter from the twins.

"Well, at least he thought so! I can surely imagine he had enemies, as he was an asshole, but not as many as he seemed to think." Once again, Lestrade was shocked speechless, so Sherlock showed them out.

"It's not a loss that he's dead, Mr. Holmes. He made our lives miserable. He wouldn't even sign our passport. He was a danger to us. Don't be too hard on whoever did this, please?" James looked begging up on Sherlock, and Sherlock nodded, while giving him a pat on his shoulder.

Sherlock went into the room again, and Lestrade looked up on him.

"This is very unlike something I've heard before. None of them seemed a bit sad, they seemed relieved all as one. He must have really been a threat for them."

The door opened, and a young woman entered. She looked older than she was, more mature and worn out than 17 years old usually looked. Her hair was long, with light curls and a deep chestnut colour. Her eyes were clear green, and despite the worn out look, had a lively spark, a burning fire. She wore light make-up, almost not noticeable, a pair of well-worn tight jeans and a big, blue t-shirt with BLUE STAHLI written on it, which was an odd contrast to the rest of her by being so unstylish. John frowned when he saw Sherlock´s glance. It was spellbound.

"Hi, I'm Valencia Crieff, but please call me Vay." She held out her hand, and to both Lestrade and John's surprise, Sherlock took it.

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. This is D.I. Lestrade." The handshake lasted longer than it should, and John felt a bit sick. This was Irene Adler all over again. Maybe, with a bit luck, this girl was gay too. Or, of course, what did he have to fear, she was probably like any other 17 years old, and would bore Sherlock as soon as she started talking.

"Vay, you are 17 right?" Vay nodded, with a tiny smile. "Doesn't look like it, does it? I feel like I'm looking more worn out every second." She added this when she saw Lestrade´s unbelievingly look.

"When did you last see your father?" Sherlock asked, keeping his eyes fixated on Vay.

"That's a hard question," she answered. "You see, last time I was there, was my 15th birthday, but I have seen him after that. Not talking to him or anything, but I did see him at my work, once. He didn't want me to see him of course, but I did. That's around, a year ago. After that, he got a bit better with hiding when he followed me around." The last part was said with a bitter smile.

Sherlock looked at the woman in front of him. He couldn't call her a girl, because she wasn't. She was so much older, and it was clear to him that she'd experienced so much more than 17 years old usually had. She didn't look like the other women he was used to seeing, they put work in to their outfit, but Vay didn't. He couldn't read her. The only thing he could figure out, was that she was so much more than what he could see, probably a whole other person and it drove him crazy.

He was used to understand and be able to read the persons he was put in front of, but he couldn't read her. This was somewhat like what he'd experienced with Irene Adler, except Vay Crieff was different from Irene Adler on that simple point that even though Vay had given him a lot to go on, he couldn't read her. He hadn't been able to read Adler either, but that was mainly because she didn't give him anything to go on. Vay sat in front of him, with clothes and a lot of words, that didn't tell him anything. It didn't help when she said:

"I didn't kill him. Someone else took care of it before I had the chance. Though I have to say, I'd love being the one who did it. He deserved it. It was just a question of time before he killed one of us. He couldn't bare not being perfect."

After what seemed like ages to John, the interview was over. He was hurt and scared, because he'd seen how Sherlock had looked at that girl. He was not reassured by the fact that Sherlock was quiet the whole trip home. He didn't say a word, he just sat, looking out of the window, far away from John. When they came home, John coughed, and asked silently, even though he didn't want to hear the answer:

"So what did you think about Vay Crieff? She was, ehm, something?" He could hear his own voice shiver, but Sherlock didn't notice.

"She was… Special. Different." The words were said with an odd kind of admiring, which was slightly annoyed.

"I can't figure her out…" Sherlock let the sentence hang in the air, and it felt like someone had pulled a rope around John´s neck and tighten. He couldn't breathe. That was the most flattering thing he could imagine Sherlock say about someone. He'd seen how Sherlock had looked at her, and he felt the rope tighten as he the thought of being dumped hit him like a punch in the stomach.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it, then," John managed to get out, and stormed to his room.

Sherlock was too lost in his thoughts to notice. There was no evidence in this case. He wanted to know how it had happened. He wanted to know how the person had managed to get Peter von Woller to kill himself, and he wanted to know Vay Crieff. Who she really was, beneath the mask that she clearly put up every day before meeting people. He didn't care so much whether the case was solved and brought to court, though, because Peter had sounded like an evil psychopath, and it was probably for the best that he was dead, but the curiosity nearly drove him out of his mind.

He went to his jacket to pick up his phone and his nicotine patches, but found a paper bit instead of his beloved patches.

The note was written by hand, probably with actual ink.

_Li brx zdqw wkh wuxwk, frph wr wkh uhg rdn wuhh._

Sherlock stared at the letters as every kind of cipher and codes ran through his head. Finally, he found the right one. Caesar cipher.

_If you want the truth, come to the red oak tree._

Forgotten about John, he grabbed his phone, turned on recording and disappeared out of the apartment and into the dark outside.

* * *

><p><em>Cliffhanger? Maybe a little one?<em>

_Tell me, people, what do you think? Do I suck at writing cases? What do you think of Vay Crieff? Could she be the end of John and Sherlock? _

_This chapter got way much longer than I intended. Well well, me on my part am just happy how longer it is, I kind of find short chapters partly annoying, at least when it's me writing them. _

_If convenient, review. If inconvenient, review anyway. JK  
>(And that's not JK- just kidding, that's me signing with my name)<em>

_:) _


	6. Red Oak Tree

_Haha, I felt __bad for leaving with that cliffhanger, so I decided I'd write a new chapter before I'm off. Might not be the best one, though, so please keep in mind that I was writing the chapter while packing._

* * *

><p>The red oak tree was a bench by the Thames. It was usually used by homeless blokes, to lie on at night. The bench was formed as a tree, and made of red oak, hence the name. Not very many knew that, but Sherlock did of course, and so did the woman who waited on him on the bench.<p>

It was dark outside, and Sherlock only saw a contour of the slim figure on the bench. He could see her green eyes sparkle in the night, when he come up to her. She tilted her head light and asked with a mocking voice:

"Didn't take you long to figure out that code, now, did it? By the way, you shouldn't use these, they're bad for your health."

She held up his nicotine patches. He snapped them from her hands.

"Why? Why did you get me down here? You would've gotten away with it if you hadn't." Sherlock didn't look her in the eyes as he talked, the burning life in them made it impossible to focus on anything else, and he needed his mind clear.

"Oh, you see, I'm just like you. Well, not just like you. You can say I'm the more… human version of you. I deduce the things you put off as boring, and annoying. Feelings. People. Not what they do or have done, but how they are. And I wouldn't do that unless I was curious, would I. So there's your answer. You are curious and I know how painful it is, not knowing. So I'll tell you. "

Sherlock couldn't hide away a surprised expression, but he did give an effort to try.

"You are doing this so I won't have to wonder how?"

Vay Crieff nodded. It was just a little movement with her head, which made her hair dance slowly around her head.

"You are risking your life as a free woman to tell me how it happened?" She smiled, sly.

"Oh, little you… I'm not risking anything. They don't have any proves. They can't take me for anything."

Sherlock felt his phone in his pocket, but said nothing. He didn't like how she treated him and wanted to show her to her place. No one was better than him.

"Okay, then. Tell me."

"Well, it all started when I was little… But you don't want to hear the background story, do you. That would bore you. That's why I'm jumping right to about two weeks ago."

Sherlock looked a bit shocked. Usually people just kept on telling their stories, somehow thinking it was exciting or worth hearing, but Vay… She understood that people didn't care, that _he _didn't care, and she respected that. For some strange reason, that made Sherlock want to know the rest of the story. He found himself with a feeling he hadn't experienced before; he wanted to know how Vay turned out to be Vay. What made her _her_. But Sherlock being Sherlock didn't want to admit that, and just nodded.

Vay looked at him funny.

"Oh, I was wrong. You do want to hear the background story. At least now you want to… Obvious."

"Ehhbjm," Sherlock stuttered, spellbound.

"What?"

"No. Just jump to the part where you killed your father."

"I've threatened your intelligence now, haven't I." Vay laughed. It was a thrilling sound, lovely, and it reminded Sherlock of rain at summer. He tried to shake away the feeling as she continued.

"You are freaked out by the fact that someone can read you too."

"John can read me," Sherlock said shortly, looking away.

"Not the same way _I_ can read you. Anyway, I didn't kill Peter. He hung himself. That should be obvious to you. Don't get so touchy-feely that you outburst things like that. Might lead you to do things you'll regret."

Sherlock gaped at her. She made him truly speechless, something no other person ever had managed, and he hated the feeling. She said just what he'd said to John in the same situation. A shiver went down his spine, and he tried not to show how insecure he was starting to get.

"He didn't hang himself. He could fine have reached the chair beside him. You should've moved it further away." Accusing her, that might get her to reveal something.

"But you see, that's where you're wrong. I didn't kill him. I didn't threaten him to hang himself either. I talked to him, and then he decided to take a suicide. I cannot be held responsible for that."

"You asked me here, to tell me nothing?"

"Isn't that what you get out of what I say anyway? Nothing? You can't make anything out of me, Mr Holmes." Vay winked, but not in the sexy way that would've reminded him of Irene, but more like this-is-our-secret.

"Of course I can make something out of you. You are after attention." Sherlock said the words, knowing that he was lying. Vay Crieff did not want attention. She knew he was lying, and she laughed again. _Raindrops in summertime._

"Really, Sherlock Holmes. I am after attention?"

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He didn't know the feeling he was having, and if he didn't know better, he would've thought he felt stupid.

"You have a dog. A huge dog, I'm guessing maybe a Schafer. You could've been out with your friends, now, drinking, but you wouldn't do that because you are too mature. You don't have a boyfriend, but you just got out from an engagement. You broke it off, I imagine."

Vay laughed.

"Stop laughing!" Sherlock said, before realizing it. He bit his lips. Dammit. He wanted her to stop laughing, because it made him feel insecure, but he also wanted her to laugh more because he loved the sound.

Vay cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, you are right about the dog. Not a hard one, though, Mr. Consulting Detective, considering I told you earlier today, under the interrogation."

Sherlock could've hit himself. "Stupid, stupid," he mumbled under his breath. Of course, he remembered her saying it now. The dog´s name was Sirius.

"Sirius is a star. My dog is named after a star," Vay said, and it would've been random if Sherlock hadn't just thought about the name.

"I know," he answered, with a cold, feelingless expression.

Vay started to laugh, but stopped herself.

"No you don't. John wrote in his blog that you don't know the Solar system. How could you then possibly know that Sirius is a little star up there somewhere?"  
>"You read John´s blog?"<p>

"Yes, of course. I'm a fan." She laughed at Sherlock´s startled expression. Sherlock didn't know what to do. And that was a first, or maybe a second for him. He didn't like it. He wanted to run away, until he got control again. In this situation, even he could say that it surely wasn't him who had it. As he tried desperately to find something clever to say, she opened her mouth again.

"Well, I'm tired and my dog misses me. It was nice to see you and I will see you again. Before I go, I'll let you in on a little secret, though. The reason you can't read me?" She came closer to him, lent in and whispered in his ear:

"It's because I'm so good at talking people away from the subject. Think about that." As she pulled a bit away and pressed her lips against his, two things were clear to Sherlock. One, Vay smelled just like a rare flower he once found in Africa. Two, John was standing just a few feet away, with a hurt and shocked expression. Sherlock managed to pull himself together, and ran after John who'd turned on his heel and stormed in to the dark.

"John! John!" Sherlock called, desperately, but John didn't answer, and he couldn't see him. He stopped running and stared helpless into the dark.

Well, at least he got the recording of Vay saying she'd talked to Peter before he died. That might give the police something to go on. He reached down in his pocket to pick up his phone.

His pocket was empty, except for a note, written with ink, saying:

_Told you I'm not risking anything. Think about what I said. Do you have anything to go on?_

Sherlock looked at the note, finally realizing that even though they'd talked for ages, he still didn't know anything about how Peter von Woller had died, and he was even further from solving the case in his head named Vay Crieff.

* * *

><p><em>I'm a bad person. If someone wants to have a word with me, I'll be in London.<em>

_Please be a sweetie and leave a review. Reviews always makes my day._

_Wishing everybody a nice Easter! :)_

**_P.S._**

_When Vay says: "I'm a fan", imagine Sherlock when saying to Anderson about the deodorant he's wearing: "It's for men" in Study in Pink. That's just the way she said it. _


	7. London Eye

_Hey, hey! This is seventh chapter, woho!_

_Just so I don't come off as demanding or anthing, when I ask for reviews I'm not fishing for compliments, and I don't take it for granted that you use your time to write feedback. Though I must say I very much appreciate the reviews I get, because I use them for how I'm going to approach the story next. They are also great if I've done a mistake, or fallen out of character and things like that._

_And, most of all, I want to hear your opinion so that I can make the next chapters better! :)_

* * *

><p>"Stupid, stupid!" Sherlock threw his hands up and pulled his hair. He'd gotten fooled by a 17 years old.<p>

"Ah, she's clever, very clever," he mumbled to himself, without taking any notice of his voice being admiring. She was just like Irene, he thought, but he'd beaten Irene, hadn't he? And Vay is much younger than Irene, so this will be an easy match. I've just lost first round, he reminded himself. Now he just had to find John and explain to him that Vay was the one that had been responsible for the kiss, and only so she could steal his phone.

John didn't know what to do. He reckoned it was a logically explanation to it, but the sight of Vay and Sherlock kissing had hurt so much, and it didn't help the way he'd seen Sherlock look at her earlier this evening. He couldn't help but feel betrayed, why hadn't Sherlock asked him to come with him to meet Vay?  
>After storming to his room, John had though his reaction had been very childish and had decided to go down and make it up, but Sherlock wasn't there. The only thing in the whole room that was different was the little note on the table, which told John Sherlock had been in such a hurry he hadn't even remembered to take the note with him. That was very unlike Sherlock, Sherlock never did human mistakes like that. John didn't have any trouble understanding the note, and he also happened to know about the red oak tree. Once John had persuaded Sherlock to go for a walk, and they had passed the bench, so Sherlock told him.<p>

Scared of the fact that something might have happened to Sherlock, John'd grabbed his jacket and been out of the flat in seconds. Now he really wish he hadn't. He'd come down just in time to see Vay lean in and whisper something in Sherlock's ear, and then... Well.  
>He'd heard Sherlock yell after him, but he couldn't face him. He needed to sort his feelings out. So where was it likely that Sherlock Holmes wouldn't find him?<p>

Sherlock was on his way home to the apartment; he'd given up searching for John. It was more likely that John had gone back to the apartment and locked himself in his room. As he was about to cross the street, a black cab stopped in front of him.

"Are you Mr. Holmes?" asked a little, grey-haired cabby.

"Yes. Who's asking?"

"I have a message for you, from the third biggest city in Spain," the cabbie said, and Sherlock easily heard on his voice that the cabbie wasn't too happy to do this.

"You'll find him in the London Eye."  
>Third biggest city in Spain... Ah, Valencia, AH! Vay. John.<p>

"Take me to London Eye," Sherlock said, jumping in the cab.

John was waiting in the not very long queue to London Eye. There weren't so many people, probably because it was the middle of the night and all the normal people was sleeping. He'd figured this was the place Sherlock would avoid, because of all the stupidity, not to mention the tourists. Also, he could relax and take in London with a normal sight, not the battlefield that he always saw when he was with Sherlock. Though, John was sadly wrong about his relaxing trip, when a dark, tall and skinny person jumped in the eye just in time to not get squeezed by the door. John looked up to face the person he wanted the least to see right now, his lover and boyfriend, Sherlock bloody Holmes. He looked quickly over to the door, but it was to late. The wheel had already started going.

"Sherlock! I need some time alone! Why do you think I came here? Normal people, boring people like me, need time to think. They need to be alone sometimes, especially when their boyfriend just cheated on them."

"Yes, why did you choose this place? You have to stand in queue with all those tourists," Sherlock spitted the last word out.

John just stared at Sherlock in disbelief, before turning his head away, wondering if it was too risky to jump into the Thames.

"No good?" John didn't even care to answer.

"Listen John, let me explain. Then I promise to be quite so that you can enjoy this, ehm, trip."

"So I have to listen to you, when you won't leave me alone? Why is it always your needs? You don't give a bloody rats ass about mine." John resisted the urge to pout like Sherlock always did.

"I need you to know it wasn't like it appeared! She kissed me! She wanted to steal my phone. She stole my phone." He corrected himself.

"Yeah, I saw that, Sherlock. I saw that she kissed you."

"But what's the problem, then?" Sherlock looked sincerely confused. If John knew he didn't kiss Vay, why was he so angry?

John drew his breath and counted silently to ten.

"Because I also saw you not pulling away before you saw me. And anyways, when you see your boyfriend kissing, -" Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but John held his hand up and continued "or getting kissed by someone else, it usually gives a reaction. At least with us normal, boring, stupid people."

"You are not stupid! You are a great help for me and in my cases," Sherlock said. John lifted an eyebrow. That was news. Sherlock never usually showed any signs of gratitude, rather the opposite, in fact.

"Why did you go down to her? Why didn't you pull away with once? Why are you so bloody fascinated with her? I can see that you are, so it's no point denying it."

Sherlock threw his hands up and said in pure frustration:

"Because I can't figure her out! Yet. She stole my phone. She's smart, and still she appear so… Innocent. That's my case at the moment. Her. When I'm done with the case, she'll be as boring as anyone else." John wasn't at all convinced, and frankly, a bit scared, but asked because he had to know.

"What about me, then? Am I just a case too? Or maybe, was I just a case? Have I gotten boring now?" Even Sherlock could hear the hurt and vulnerable in John´s voice, and said silently because he knew John needed to hear it:

"No, John. You'll never be boring. I figured you out a long time ago, but you still seize to surprise me. I love you. You're the only person I've ever loved. Vay just ticks my curiosity."

"But what if she starts to do more than that?" John asked simply, but before he had the time to wait for an answer, Sherlock flew the short distance from the other end of the room and kissed him hard. The attack came surprising on John, who hadn't seen it coming at all, but he got turned on with once. Sherlock forced his tongue in John´s mouth, and finally John had gathered himself enough to kiss back. Suddenly Sherlock´s hands were everywhere, on his torso, under his shirt, down his pants. He pressed himself so hard on John, John almost felt like he was being raped, and it turned him on beyond belief. Sherlock ripped off John´s clothes in seconds, but a little voice very far back in John´s head made John realize what they were doing.

"Sherlock, we are in London Eye, it's not decent –" That was as far as John came, because Sherlock pushed him down on the floor, and entered him with a moan.

"Who cares about decent?" Sherlock´s voice was raspy and filled with desire, and John forgot every thought about see-through windows and a public place. Sherlock started to thrust himself against John, and John temporarily blacked out from pure pleasure.

"Yes, Sherlock, yees!"

When John thought it couldn't get better, Sherlock gripped his very erected cock and started jerking him off in the same rhythm as the thrusts. John made a sound that was something between a moan and a gurgle, which was enough for Sherlock, and he came with a last thrust, moaning John´s name in his dark baritone voice. The sound of Sherlock saying John´s name with that much desire and pleasure, was enough to push John off the edge, and he came all over Sherlock´s clothes.

They lay sometime just looking up through the roof, not saying anything. Suddenly John started to laugh.

"We just had sex in a London Eye cabin. With see-through windows." Sherlock started to laugh too. Then he turned so that he looked right into John´s green eyes, and drew his breath.

"I love you, John. Don't ever doubt that."

John looked back in to Sherlock´s grey eyes, and trusted him. He felt the love for Sherlock fill him, and it was almost too much. He opened his mouth to try and express his feelings, when suddenly the cabin stopped. The door opened, and a guard looked in.

"What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" The guard was an elder man with grey hair and beard.

"We just had sex," Sherlock said bluntly, which made John blush. The guard was so taken aback from the straight answer that he just nodded and went away.

"I think we have to leave," Sherlock said to John with the smile he saved especially for John´s benefit.

"But what are you going to wear?" asked John, and didn't know whether to laugh or be embarrassed. He didn't doubt for a second that Sherlock could put back on his sperm-covered clothes and walk out in public.

"I'll just carry my shirt," Sherlock said, unconcerned.

"You'll be cold!"

"No, John. I'm never cold."

When they finally arrived back to the apartment, John was slightly relieved. They'd gotten a lot of looks, and one boy and three girls had given Sherlock their phone number on their walk from London Eye to the nearest cab. Sherlock had thrown them away, of course, with a look of repellences on his face, which made John proud and feel special. That'd been Sherlock´s point, of course. The peace wouldn't last for long, though, because when he came up to his room, his phone lay on his desk, and the window was open. Next to the phone laid a note, written with a familiar handwriting in ink.

* * *

><p><em>I'm back from England now, sadly enough! The upside is of course that I can go back to writing fanfic again. I thought about how I wanted this chapter the whole week, but nevertheless I'm not so sure about it. I liked the last chapter much better. Please tell me what you think!<em>


	8. Notes

_I wasn't all that happy with last chapters ending, so here's a little, I don't know, teaser for next chapter? To be totally honest, after chapter six, I didn't know where to __go with the story, seeing as I had only planned so far ahead. That's why I'm so unsure about last chapter, too. Now I've finally figured how the story will go for the next chapters, which makes me feel a little better._

* * *

><p>Sherlock took up the note and read the few words.<p>

_I'm happy you and John worked it out. Didn't mean to cause trouble, you know._

He looked at it, confused. It didn't seem like she was being sarcastic or anything, he just got the feeling that she felt bad for causing a fight between them. He decided not to say anything to John, and ripped the note into small pieces.

"Sherlock! I made tea!" John yelled from downstairs, and Sherlock hurried down, putting the phone in his pocket. To Sherlock´s surprise, there wasn't only tea, but also dinner.

"Don't say anything," John held up his hand when Sherlock opened his mouth. "You need to eat. I haven't seen you eat in ages."

Sherlock smirked.

"I was only going to say it looked delicious. Thank you." He kissed John lightly on the lips, to John´s surprise. He wasn't used to Sherlock saying thanks, or being willing to eat, for that matter. Was Sherlock feeling… guilt? He shook his head. That didn't sound like the Sherlock he knew. He waved away the thoughts and sat down opposite Sherlock.

They talked about everything, normal daythings, like how stupid Anderson was and the last case Lestrade had given them.

"Have you seen his hair? I think you should say to Donovan that she should have him change it. It just makes him look even more stupid," Sherlock said, as they laughed about something Anderson had said earlier.

"Why can't you tell her?" John asked, trying to keep a straight face while picturing Donovan´s face if Sherlock went up and told her that. They burst out in laugher at the same time.

"Yeah, she'll listen to that, she's just so –" but what Donovan so was, John never got to know. Because just then Vay entered, looking tired and out of it. Both John and Sherlock stood there, looking at her. She must've had come very silently up the stairs, because neither of them had heard her. Something had changed in the few hours since he last saw her, because she was lacking her usual calmness. Without saying a word, she sat down in the chair John always sat in, and John and Sherlock shared a look.

John raised an eyebrow, as if to say that Sherlock had to fix this, but it was obvious Sherlock had no idea, so he sat down in the sofa opposite her.

"I'm not here to ruin anything," she said, easily, keeping her eyes fixated on the wall ahead of her. "I'm actually here to ask," she drew her breath, "for help."

Sherlock had put on his usual mask of emptiness, but felt almost shocked inside. Why had Vay come for help? She didn't appear like the type who would ask for help. He opened his mouth, but John was quicker.

"Why? What's happened?"

"I came home today, and found this on my desk." Vay said, with hollow voice and held a paper out to them. "Together with the tail of my dog, which has disappeared."

On the note it was written with blood-red ink:

_Well, well. If you are so bored that you want to play with Holmes, why don't you play with me? I'm far more interesting, I promise you, and I'm not gay. The tail is for you as a little hint. That's what happened to your boyfriend.  
>What happened to your dog is surely obvious. JM<em>

Sherlock looked at the note in disbelief. JM could only be one person. James Moriarty. But he was dead? He'd fallen off St. Barts hospital and died. Just as Sherlock thought this, his phone beeped.

_April´s fool! Guess who's alive. JM_

John watched in horror Sherlock´s face grow pale, as Vay pulled her knees under her chin and looked vulnerable and lost.

* * *

><p><em>That's eight, and horribly short. I'm so sorry. But I didn't want it to be any longer, since I just got an idea and had to introduce it. More will come tomorrow when I'm not tired and sleepy.<em>

_Your reviews is, as always, very much appreciated :) _


	9. JM

_Heyhey people, we're on for __9__th__ chapter. Thanks to all of you who reviewed my last chapter, by the way! It was really encouraging :)_

* * *

><p>When the silence had lasted for minutes, John felt the need to say something.<p>

"JM? Jim Moriarty?"

"Yes, of course," Sherlock snapped, and John sat back in the sofa, feeling rather offended and a little bit hurt. But then again, he could understand Sherlock being a little bit snappy, considering, well.

"But he's dead. I know it. I saw him fall down. We were there to confirm him as Jim Moriarty," John said, trying again, even though he knew this would just irritate Sherlock. Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't say anything, he just nodded. He'd totally forgotten all about Vay, sitting in the chair, with silent tears running down her cheeks. He showed his phone to John, who just stared at it in shock. Sherlock dropped his phone, probably on purpose, and John was just in time to catch it before it hit the floor. Sherlock stood over Vay in a second, his hands on her shoulders and it was obvious he was struggling not to shake her.

"Who's your boyfriend? When did you last see him?" Sherlock´s voice was filled with desperation, John realized, as he stood up and dragged Sherlock away from a somewhat startled Vay. She looked up at him and said:

"I saw him before I went to talk with you… He said he'd come by later, but he never did. My dog wasn't home either."

"Your boyfriend, who is he? We have to find him. Now." Sherlock interrupted her, and waited with a very impatient look on his face. Relief was clear to read in Vay´s eyes as she sat up in the chair, eager.

"Do you think he's still alive?"

"No, he's dead. Probably shot, if I remember Moriarty right. But we need to find him to get to Moriarty," Sherlock answered shortly, not caring in the least about how Vay looked as the words he'd just said, hit her. Although John kind of liked that Sherlock was so unfriendly to her now, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her, and said with a low, but stern voice.

"Sherlock, be gentle. She's just a girl, remember."

"I don't care! Don't you see? If Moriarty is back, that means you are in danger." Sherlock pointed at John with something wild in his eyes. It suddenly struck John that it was fear, which made him feel really sick. If Sherlock was scared, this was going to be bad. For the first time since the pool, he was scared for his life. John didn't say anything, and Sherlock turned to Vay again.

"His name! What was his name, where did he live?"

Vay flinched when she heard the past tense that Sherlock used, but managed to keep her voice steady.

"Phil Goodwell. He lives in Wimbledon." Vay hadn't even said the words before Sherlock was out of the door. John just shook his head when Vay looked confused at him.

"Come on, or he'll leave without us," he said, grabbing Sherlock´s coat, which he had forgotten in his hurry.

When they came out on the street, Sherlock had already gotten a cab, and stood, amazingly enough waiting for them, if though extremely impatient.

"Wow. Didn't think you'd wait," John said, somewhat sarcastic.

"I need the address. Vay has the address," was the short answer.

"Ridgeway 115 a," said Vay to the cabbie, and sat down on the left side of John. The whole hour cab drive was taken in silence. Sherlock stared out of the window, and John knew he was in his mind palace, trying to figure out how Jim could be alive. John himself was trying to not let all the ideas and memories from last year make him panic, but it was hard. Why? And how? Vay just sat staring down at her hands, her chestnut hair covering all of her face. She'd never looked more like a little girl, and not anything like when John'd first seen her walk in to the interrogation room. He wanted to pat her back, but figured she wouldn't appreciate that at all.

They finally arrived outside a brick house, with a rather large garden. Vay found a key from one of her pockets and opened the first glass door. Sherlock followed behind him, and John last. She went over till the door most far away from the entrance, and locked up all the three locks. A smell of mothballs hit them the minute they sat foot on the wall-to-wall carpet that covered all of the room.

Sherlock looked around.

_He's 18. Lives alone. Left-handed. Not close to his family. Studying to be a doctor. Was surprised while watching television. Extremely tidy_. _Ironically, considering he has wall-to-wall carpets. Ah, just renting. _He turned around, and then went in to the room deepest in the apartment. The door was locked, but Sherlock kicked it in without further hesitation. On the huge bed, laid a young boy with blonde, sticky hair and blue eyes. He was staring right up in the roof, with a bullet-hole through his head, right between his eyes. There were bloodstains up over the wall, and the bedspread had slowly started to turn from white to red.

John and Vay had followed after him when they heard the loud CRACK the door made. Vay made it first to the door, which now lied on the floor, and just looked at her boyfriend. She didn't go over to him; she stood in the door opening and just watched with a snow-white face. John didn't know what to do, so he put his arm around her, to keep her from falling. It didn't appear that Sherlock would do anything. He went around the room, and observed everything.

"He was going to cancel on you tonight, maybe it's just as good he's dead." Sherlock said, as he panted around the room. John shot him an angry glare.  
>"NOT good," he whispered through clenched teeth. Sherlock ignored him.<p>

"The killer was close, but with a gun he could've shot four hundred meters with. Most likely a sniper. Smart, doesn't leave much of a mess. If the killer had used a shotgun, you wouldn't be able to recognize his face, and the bloodstains would've been bigger, as would the wound of course. But why? If the killer already was so close, why use a sniper? A sniper works best from 500-600 meters range, not five, six meters as here used. We can of course go looking for the bullet, but that'd be wasting time. This is probably a M24. Now, where do you get a hold of a M24?" Sherlock wasn't actually asking, John knew that, because he'd taken up his phone and started browsing the Internet.

"This is Moriarty," John reminded Sherlock. "He gets a hold of whatever he wants." Sherlock laid his phone back in his pocket.

"Yes, of course." Sherlock had suddenly noted blood on the boy´s sweater, and ripped it off. Right where his heart was, it was carved the letters _JM_ with a knife. The wound wasn't to deep, but it still trickled blood from it.

Vay let out a little squeak. She had noticed a little note on the desk besides the bed.

_Doesn't this look lovely? Come on, Vay, play with me. If not I'll have to come and get you myself! JM_

"You are staying with us tonight," John said immediately. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything against it.

"You'll sleep in my bed. I rarely use it anyway." Vay just nodded, silently, and stared scared down at the note.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry I didn't post yesterday, I was very busy. I also have to apologize for any mistakes what the gun concerns, I do not have a very wide knowledge about weapons. I'm sorry this was so short, but I've big plans for next chapter, and I promise that will be much longer!<em>

_:)_


	10. Italy

_I'm sorry this took so much time __before I got to write this one, but to my defense I've been horribly busy. When I'm done writing this, I have to go back to cram for my test on Wednesday. I'm not looking forward to that at all. Well, enough about my daylife, enjoy the chapter! :)_

* * *

><p>When they all came back to the apartment after yet another silent cab drive, Vay disappeared in to Sherlock´s room without saying anything but a low "thanks". John looked up at Sherlock, trying to meet his eyes, but Sherlock had turned his back against him and went to the sofa.<p>

"Sherlock… What do you think you are doing?"

"Don't ask so stupid questions, John. I'm going to bed, of course, or, if you may, the sofa." John cocked an eyebrow. Sherlock was never "going to bed".

"Are this a play to get me to get you in my bed?" John asked, his voice a bit playful.  
>Sherlock didn't say anything, but turned around with a little smile. John grinned.<p>

"Come here, Sherlock," he said, walking towards him with open arms.

"Now, that just looks ridiculous." Sherlock looked away, but allowed John to lay his arms around him. He clearly needed it. Sherlock would never admit it, of course, but as he tightened his arms around John, he knew he needed it as well. Jim Moriarty was alive. Struck by the thought he'd managed to keep away for sometime, he kissed John´s lips with such a force; John tumbled backwards, still holding his arms around Sherlock. They both fell on the floor, but that didn't stop Sherlock, who was kissing John like it was the last time.

John felt the panic rise when the thought hit him that it might actually be just that. These unwelcome thoughts made him cling even harder to Sherlock, not even thinking that Vay could hear them. Suddenly Sherlock threw him off, and disappeared abruptly in to the bathroom. John turned to an upright position, confused and out of it. After some silent minutes, he followed after.

"Sherlock…?" John asked, gently to the bathroom door. When he received no answer, he tried to open the door. It was locked.

"Sherlock?" His voice was a little scared now.

"Sherlock, open the door!" And the scariness was soon replaced with anger. To his surprise, the lock went click, and he opened the door, only to find Sherlock lying on the floor, looking at the ceiling. John looked at Sherlock´s somewhat puffy eyes.

"Kill me, John."

"WHAT?" John exclaimed. He didn't believe his own ears. What the hell was going on with Sherlock?

"Don't be like that, you heard what I said."

"Why would I do that? Have you gone out of your mind?"

"Because, obvious, if I'm dead, Moriarty will probably leave you alone, and then you can carry on living a normal life. Get a wife and some kids. Aren't that what normal people do these days? Only thing to stopping you from that you deserve is me. Not only am I stopping you from having the life you should have, I'm also constantly putting you in danger. Therefore, kill me."

John gaped. He didn't know what to either feel or say, and he turned on his heel, only to turn back.

"Sherlock - no, you know what, just forget it." He turned on his heel again, and stormed out of the bathroom. _Three, two, one._ John stormed in again.

"I can't believe you are so selfish! How do you think I would live with myself if I killed you? I don't want a 'normal' life. I want you. If I can't have you, I don't want anyone. So don't you dare go and die on me, Sherlock. Do you listen?" John´s voice broke, but he held his hand up so Sherlock wouldn't say anything. He gathered himself and continued.

"I was so alone when I met you, and I owe you so much. My life wouldn't be worth living if it weren't for you. So don't you die on me. I will never hear you say that again, okay? You. Cannot. Die. On. Me." John laid extra pressure on the last words, because he needed reassurance, and to convince himself. He couldn't bear to look at Sherlock, so he turned his head away. Sherlock had risen to his feet, silently, and laid a hand on John´s shoulder. He turned John around, so that he could look up in the loving eyes to his detective.

"Not good?" Sherlock said this with a voice full of regret. John managed a smile.

"A bit not good, yeah." Sherlock bent down and kissed John easily on the lips, and then just hugged him.

So low that John wasn't even sure he'd actually said it, Sherlock whispered down in his hair:

"Thank you."

"Come on, Sherlock, you need to get some sleep." He saw that Sherlock was about to argue, so he quickly added, "And even if you don't, I do. So then you can watch me sleep. Come on, now." He grabbed Sherlock´s hand and dragged him with him and into his bedroom.

The next morning Sherlock woke up with John easily sleeping in his arms. He looked down on him and felt something warm fill him. He felt the urge to protect him, and knew that this time, he was an even easier match for Jim. He was facing a man with nothing to lose, and that's never good, especially when you've got so much to loose yourself. So how could he avoid any further contact with Jim? Ah, he could send Vay away. That way, she'd be safe (not that he cared), and Jim would be very busy finding her. The case with Vay's boyfriend could be up to Lestrade to fix. It ached in Sherlock when he realized he'd have to give up this case, but when he looked down on John´s blond, curly hair, the aching stopped. It was worth it if it meant keeping John safe.

Sherlock wanted to just lie there the whole day, but stood up from the bed, tucking the quilt good around John, and put on his robe. He went down, stood for a minute in the living room, before heading into his own room. When he entered, he could see a contour of a person sleeping under the quilt, with her head under the pillow. Sherlock cocked and eyebrow, before bending down and lifting away her pillow.

"Vay!" He called out to her, right above her ear. She jumped, awakened with once, and stared at him.

"Why did you sleep on the couch?" Sherlock asked.

"How did you know I slept on the couch? I'm here…" Vay´s tone was in no sense sarcastically, just plain, like she really wondered.

"The pillows on the couch, obvious. I reckon you didn't feel safe in my room." Vay suppressed a smile.

"No, actually, it was because you and John were so_ loud_. It's very thin walls here, you know." Sherlock flushed, almost not visible.

"Go make some coffee. I want mine black with two sugars." He turned away, hiding his own little smile. Vay raised her eyebrows, but did as she was told. As she stood up from the bed, Sherlock noticed she'd slept in her clothes. They were all wrinkly and partly glued to her.

"Had a bad dream?" he asked, more to show off than because he actually cared.

"Not in the mood to hear you show off," Vay said, walking out of the room. She had yet to get over the loss of her boyfriend, Sherlock noticed, she wasn't radiating the normal confidence and calmness, and her shoulders were a bit stooped.

"Vay, if I were to send you away, where would you like to go?" He followed her down to the kitchen, where she easily found her way to the coffee machine and the ingredients.

"You are thinking that sending me away might stop Moriarty from following me." Vay stated, with her back turned against him.

"Probably not. But it will might stop him from finding you." Then, after a little break, he added, "at least with once." Vay didn't turn to look at him now either, but nodded visibly.

"I don't know. I mean, you should be the one to know where he won't look for me."

"He will look for you everywhere. He will find you. But if we move you frequently enough, he might give up." Sherlock didn't believe he would for a second. But then again, if he sent Vay away, and at least tried to keep her safe, he wouldn't have to think about it anymore, and Moriarty might stay busy for a while, until John and himself were ready to take him down once and for all.

"You don't believe that, do you? You think that if you send me away, I'll be safe for sometime, at least, but the main reason you want to is because that'll keep Moriarty away from John."

Sherlock looked at her for a second, before looking away.

"We all want to protect the ones we love."

Vay didn't have a reply to that. She filled the coffeemaker with coffee and water, and just waited. When the coffee had been made, she gave one of the cups to Sherlock sat down around the table. Sherlock saw her looking at the long rift, but she didn't comment on it. She looked down in her cup for a moment, before she decided what to say.

"Italy, maybe. I can go to school there, I speak Italian. Though, if I decide to just go, - there will be traces." She looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock opened his mouth, but just then John entered the room.

"Hey," he said, grabbing a cup and filling it with coffee. He sat down and looked at them.

"What are we talking about?"

"Where we will send me," Vay said, somewhat short, but not rude.

"Send you?" John looked confused.

"Send her, so that Moriarty won't find her," Sherlock elaborated, maybe even shorter.

"But Moriarty,-" John started, but stopped when he got a look from Sherlock.

"Sherlock, could I talk to you for a moment? In private?" Sherlock didn't look like he wanted, and not as he was going to move either. John looked at Vay with excusing eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, and waived in the direction of the stubborn child at the end of the table. Vay just nodded understandingly, and left, heading for Sherlock´s bedroom.

"Sherlock, are you out of your mind? If we send her away, Moriarty will find her, and, most likely, kill her."

"If we move her frequently enough, -"

"Don't give me that. You and I both know that Moriarty will find her, no matter what. Only place she is safe is with us. So why do you want to send her away? Is this some kind of revenge because she out-smarted you?"

"Don't be stupid, John," Sherlock said, hard. "I'm doing it because it's for the best. I will do what ever I can to keep you safe, you hear that? And Vay is smart, as you said yourself. Maybe she'll out-smart Moriarty."

John had opened his mouth and was on his way to say something again, but Vay entered the room again.

"I'm sorry, but I wanted to hear what you were talking about. I know the reason that Sherlock sends me away, and I know the reason you want me to stay. If this is partly my decision, I want to be sent away. I'll manage Moriarty." Her voice was strong, and she had a burning will in her eyes. John saw that this wasn't something he could argue about anyway.

"I'll have Mycroft give you a new passport, new name and a place at the best school in Italy," Sherlock said, taking his phone up and starting to text. Vay just nodded.

"You'll also have to cut your hair, colour it, and I will have Mycroft bring you some lenses. That eye colour of yours is way to easy to recognize."

"How will we get her to the, airport?" John asked. Sherlock just looked at him. When he realized that John wasn't kidding, he shook his head and said,

"Mycroft will drive her to the train station," John raised his eyebrows. "You know what I mean, he will get someone to do it, and I reckon Anthea will follow her on board. No, wait, he will probably use one we haven't seen before. Probably that new girl of his, Melita." John nodded and turned to Vay.

"Do you want me to follow you home, so that you can pack some of your things?"

Before Vay had had a chance to answer, Sherlock said shortly,

"She doesn't have time. Mycroft will be here in ten minutes."

Eleven minutes later Mycroft arrived, with his purple umbrella.

"Mycroft, you're getting slow," Sherlock said without turning around to look at him. "Should you maybe give your diet a little harder try?"

"Very funny, Sherlock. Now where's that little girl who's put you in so much trouble?" Just then Vay came into the room, wearing the jeans she'd wore the three last days, and one of John´s particularly worn out jumpers. Under the jumper she had one of Sherlock´s blue shirts. John had cut her hair to a bob, and dyed it in a carrot colour she just barely pulled off. They matched her green eyes, but when she sat in the blue-grey contact lenses Mycroft handed her, it really didn't look too good.

"Every colour in the world and you chose carrot orange. She's looking awful!" Sherlock hissed low voiced to John.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes," Vay said coolly, "but if I look like I usually does, I drive a bit of attention to myself. I picked the colour."

"You must excuse my brother. He's a bit… Rude." Mycroft held his hand out and Vay took it.

"I'm Vay Crieff."

"Nice to meet you. If I can come with one correction, though, you are not. You are Amanda Richardson, born in Bristol, 1992." Vay just nodded.

"Here're your papers. There's a car outside. The car will take you to a train station in Devon, where Melita," Sherlock smirked to John, who just rolled his eyes, "will follow you on to the train to Trieste. I have an apartment waiting for you there, clothes and food, and I'll text you your new bank account. You have a scholarship at the school Vieve Alora, it's a private school. Have fun, and be safe. Don't contact anyone here, I've had your papers erased."

"That means you died five minutes ago," Sherlock put in. Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"What a delicate way to put it, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, Vay! I hope you will have a great time in Italy. Take care!" John said, giving her a hug.

"My brother will surely keep an eye on you all the time," Sherlock said, partly looking at Mycroft. He shook his head in annoying, but didn't say anything.

"Well, that's nice to know," Vay said, with a tone none of them could make anything out of. She gave Sherlock a hug before she went out the door and into the black car. The hug was a bit awkward, but at least Sherlock put his arms around her, in a way. John shook his head, trying to suppress the tiny, egoistic grin over that Sherlock so clearly didn't have any feelings for her anymore. If he'd ever had, though. This is, after all, Sherlock bloody Holmes, John thought, staring with love on his favourite consulting detective.

Sherlock didn't look at John at all, he was to busy fingering with the note that suddenly lay in the left pocket of his robe. Would it take forever before Mycroft got out of there? It seemed so.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Mycroft?" Mrs Hudson asked, who'd just come up when Vay went down.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Hudson," Mycroft said with the well-known, cold smile of his. He sat down on the chair John used to sit in, so John found his space on the sofa. Sherlock jumped down in his usual seat, waiting impatiently for Mycroft to leave.

"This Vay, she's cost a lot of trouble for you, I guess? The death of Peter von Woller is closed as suicide. Just thought you would like to know."

Sherlock, who'd started playing an especially bad-sounding melody, stopped abruptly.

"Why would I like to know that?"

"You said it wasn't suicide," Mycroft said, waiting for Sherlock´s reaction to this. He started playing his violin again, this time a much better tune. He rose to his feet and walked in front of the window, playing some kind of Beethoven. John felt in the back of his head this was a song he'd heard loads of times, so it had to be a rather familiar one.

"Playing Bach, are we?" Mycroft tried again. _Bach._ Of course, John thought to himself.

"Please leave, I'm busy." Mycroft opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and turned to leave.

"Do tell me when you are feeling grown-up to have an actual conversation, Sherlock. I might have some information you'd like. Good day, Mrs Hudson. John." He left the apartment to the sound of Sherlock squeezing the bow to the strings, making an utterly awful sound.

"Oh, dear, cut that out, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said, before she took the tea tray down again. As soon as Mrs Hudson had left their flat, Sherlock took out the note. It was written on the same piece of paper as all the other notes, this time in Vay´s already familiar handwriting.

_This has been so fun. Thanks for playing my game, doing what I wanted you to do. Even though you think you can't make anyone happy, you've made me happy. I do, however, feel a little bit guilty for telling you that Jim Moriarty was alive. But you didn't really believe that, did you? Well, I guess you did, since you asked John to kill you in order to keep him safe. I have to say you disappointed me at that point. Thought you'd be harder to fool. My boyfriend was an ass. He hit me several times, and tried to strangle me once. He's no great loss. I think Italy will be amazing. I made you this note to show you that frankly, there're people out there who's smarter than you. I'm sure this won't do any difference to my going, because you'll never in a lifetime tell Mycroft you've been fooled by a 17 years old. At least now you can relax and enjoy your time with John, safe in the knowledge that James Moriarty is good and dead, and that I'm enjoying myself far away._

_VC_

Sherlock stared at the note in disbelief. John looked nervous at Sherlock´s face, something was definitely not right. Sherlock threw the paper bit he'd had between his hands on the table, turning around for his phone. Vay might have thought he wouldn't contact his brother, but he was going to prove her wrong. As John read the note in shock, Mycroft answered the phone.

"Hallo, dear brother, miss me already? Or did you find the note Vay left for you in your left pocket?"

"You knew? And you didn't tell me? Why did you send her away, then?" Sherlock sounded really confused, a feeling you didn't normally hear coming from that part.

"Because, little Valencia Crieff has made quite a mess here in London. She obviously wanted to get away, so we got rid of her. She'll do fine in Italy, and if she does some trouble, we're keeping an eye on her. We couldn't do anything here, anyway, she's smart. No proves anywhere."

"She's not that smart." Sherlock said, shortly, not sure if he was trying to convince his brother or himself.

"Sherlock, she out-smarted _you_. She got you thinking that Jim Moriarty was alive. Does that sound like a kind of person we could have walking around here? Which, by the way, was also one of the reasons I knew she was lying. Moriarty is dead. I would've known if he was to rise from the death. Go cuddle up with John now, and forget about her. It's nothing you can do anyway."

Sherlock put his phone down, staring at the note for some minutes before throwing it in the fireplace. John came over to him and kissed him easily on his ear.

"I know something that will make you forget about this," he whispered in Sherlock´s ear.

"Don't be ridiculous – AH!" John had sat his hand down on Sherlock´s crotch. Well, maybe it wasn't so ridiculous after all.

In a cosy, Italian apartment far away from England, Vay sat in front of her own fireplace, staring at the picture of the note on her phone. She felt quite pleased with herself. She'd gotten Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes, to believe that Jim Moriarty was alive again. Well, that had been fun. What was next? As she sat, thinking about it, still with the picture open on her telephone, she suddenly noticed that a red dot had appeared on her left side, right above the heart. A laser beam.

"Oh, but you see, I am alive. And you've made quite a show on my behalf, so this time _I'm_ taking _you_ in as a part of _my_ game. Naah, look at you. This will be _fun_." Vay turned around in shock, suddenly facing the world´s only consulting criminal.

* * *

><p><em>I promised you a long one! Okay, I hope I got you all with that twist on the end. Please be a sweetie and tell me what you think of this chapter! I was a bit unsure, but I'm also glad I finally got my twist. This was as far ahead that I had planned, though. What do to next? Continue or call it an end? <em>

_Your meaning is much appreciated. :)_


End file.
